by David Clark
Jordan and Neal stood there in open mouth awe, while Rachel reached in to give Antonio a high-five. He had done it again. How? It was one of the mysteries of the world.
“There is another gift for you on page five. A nice picture of Mr. Malcom Frances from a traffic camera during the chase last night.” Rachel said.
Neal flipped through the pages to the picture, which he pulled out and turned it around toward Jordan. “Yep, that’s him,” he confirmed. The picture the detectives pulled up last night was older and barely looked like him, but this picture was perfect. A full body picture of a tall built dark complected man with wide shoulders. A beard that ran from sideburn to sideburn, and a head full of dark hair on top. His athletic frame looked fast, even in the still picture. Jordan had seen the man’s speed firsthand the night before.
Neal asked Antonio to flip the light. All three officers took notice, but only one excused himself, and made his way to the observation room. Rachel slid into the already crowded room to make room for the agent.
“What’s up?”, he said.
“Our tech officer found something interesting for you.” Neal handed him the papers.
“Yellow is his number and Orange is Malcom Frances,” added Rachel.
The agent's eye popped as he scanned the page.
Rachel looked like a child on Christmas morning, waiting for her turn to open a gift. There was a little bounce to her as she looked on, waiting for the page to turn. The agent took his time looking over the first page, and Jordan saw Rachel’s hands start up a few times. He knew if the agent took any longer, she would turn the page for him. When he finally did, she said, “Sam’s personal and business finances.”
The review of this page was shorter than the first. It sent the agent sprinting back down the hall to the interview room. “Page three is more interesting,” Rachel yelled after him. He waved his appreciation as he ducked back in the room.
“Settle in folks, this will get fun,” said Antonio. “So far he has been telling them he never met the girls. Didn’t recognize their names. Didn’t know who Malcom Frances was. And, was here as part of some kind of witch hunt focused on anyone successful.”
The occupants in the room watched the video feed of the room. The papers passed from one agent to the other and then to the local detective. While one took time to look it over, the other two continued the questioning. They were all excellent poker players. None let on to what they now knew, and continued questioning him, with the topic being Malcom. Sam continued to provide answers like, “Malcom who?”, and “In my entire life, I have never met anyone named Malcom, especially not a Malcom Frances.”
Everyone watching had been in that chair before. Playing it cool. Loaded with information you could just drown the suspect in. Of course, that wouldn’t serve any purpose other than scaring him quiet. Once they know what you have, there is nothing for them to gain by talking. But if you give them a little, they think they can still talk their way out of it. Give them a little more, and they keep trying. Before you know it, they hang themselves and all they can do is confess.
“So, you don’t know anyone named Malcom Frances?”, asked the agent who was now in possession of the papers. The stack was face down in front of him.
“How many times do I have to tell you, no,” Sam Stain said, exacerbated.
“Then why did you call him two hundred and sixty one times?” The agent turned the first page over and around in front of Sam. “See that number there? That is yours. See that one there. That is his.”
“He is going to crack,” said Antonio.
“That number. That’s Mike,” Sam said. Jordan and all the agents and detectives watching laughed.
“Who is Mike?”, asked the agent.
“Someone that does some jobs for me around the station. You know, odd jobs. Landscaping. Painting.” Sam crossed his arms and sat back in the chair.
“Slam it shut,” Antonio cheered under his breath.
“Odd jobs? Painting?”, asked the Agent. His poker face was on full display, but his voice wasn’t buying it.
“Yea,” Sam said. His posture very defensive.
“At four in the morning? Who do you call at four in the morning for painting?”
Sam was about to counter with another quick, yet defensive answer, but the agent slammed it shut, and Antonio slapped his hands together and clapped like his favorite team hit the winning shot.
“Look Sam, we know everything. We have the entire call history between you, Malcom, and everyone else. We have your phone, we have theirs. They have all told us who Malcom is, and who you are. We also have your financial records. You can sit there and keep feeding me some kind of bullshit answer, and waste yours and my time and go down with multiple counts of first-degree murder which will be easy with what we already have, or you can be straight with us and help yourself.”
Sam’s arms squeezed tighter across his chest, and his shoulders slumped back in the chair. Jordan knew the man was broken inside. His mind had already made up its next move. All it needed to do now was convince his body to do it. The first move was always the surrender, which was the dropping of the arms and the lean forward against the table. Eye contact between Sam and the others was nonexistent, and he spoke to the table. “Yea, I know Malcom...”
33
“Well,” Todd started, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, we have half of anyone important in the city of Richmond in jail on, I can’t remember all the charges.”
“97 charges of prostitution. 302 charges of racketeering. 8 charges of first degree murder, with some accessory charges to be determined by the D.A.,” Rachel recounted.
“Thank you, Rachel. I wasn’t looking for an inventory.” Todd shook his head, looking at the floor. “That is going to be the fun part. The local D.A. will have to recuse himself for those decisions, and this entire process. Three members of his staff are wrapped up in it.”
“Don’t forget the Senator,” Neal added from across the conference room table.
“Oh yea, we can’t forget Senator Timmons. Who hasn’t said a word yet, and probably never will.” Todd took a long sip of his coffee. He looked like a man with a migraine the size of Texas. The last of the ones that would talk had been interviewed, each telling the same story pointing right at Malcom Frances; whose digital trail led them straight to Sam Stain. Once Sam was shown that, he crumbled right before their eyes. When he was nothing left but a pile of dust in the chair, they knew everything. “So, this radio guy, Sam Stain is who ordered the girls to be killed, and went with Malcom when he did it.”
“Yep, he was the muscle,” Jordan said.
“Is he all that is left?”, Todd asked, looking through the various papers scattered in front of him.
“Yep,” Neal said, pushing the picture of Malcom Frances in the direction of his boss. “No other names came up in any of the interviews. Everyone else is in custody. He is it.”
“Well, after last night, I don’t think we will find him at his home. Anyone have any ideas?” Neal searched his team for answers. This was a question they didn’t have the answer to, but Jordan had an idea of where to find it.
“Be right back.” Jordan stood up from the table. “Neal, come with me.”
“Where the hell are you two going?” Todd asked.
“Going to go ask,” was the only response Jordan gave as he and Neal walked out of the conference room and back toward the hall of interview rooms.
They were halfway there when Rachel caught up with them. “Guys, wait. There is something we aren’t thinking about.”
“What?”, Neal said. He and Jordan kept walking and reached the door before she answered, but didn’t enter. They waited.
“This has been going on for several years. Who is to say these are the only girls? These four only recently went missing and hadn’t been involved in this that long.”
A familiar feeling icy spike drove a sickening feeling through Jordan’s heart. It was something he had briefly considered
before, but never dove deeper and so far, no one had mentioned anyone else. It seemed Neal was thinking about this for the first time. His hand wiped across his face, and he mumbled. “Guess we need to ask him.”
Neal turned the door handle and entered, Jordan stepped in after him, but then stopped and walked back out in the hall, catching Rachel as she headed back to the conference room. He didn’t call to get her attention. Instead, he grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her close to the wall. A startled gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes were filled with fear.
“Sorry,” Jordan whispered. “Do me a favor. Tell Megan about the possibility of other girls.”
“Megan?”, she asked loudly. Jordan shushed her.
“Yea. Trust me on this please,” He let her go, but continued to beg, hands pressed together, as he walked backward toward the room where Neal waited with Sam Stain.
When Jordan entered, he didn’t take a seat. He stood and took lead, not giving Neal a chance to start. “Sam, cut right to it. We need Malcom and know he won’t be at home. Where can we find him? What kind of places did you and he meet at to discuss things?”
The broken man didn’t look up to even acknowledge that two agents had entered the room, or that he was asked a question. His voice sounded like a man thirty years older than the mid- forties man that sat in front of them., “Only one spot. Rimmie’s. It’s a bar, but it isn’t a bar. It’s just a building that looks like nothing out front, no sign, or anything, but there is a nice little setup inside. It is the perfect place to hide. The police don’t know it’s there. If they did, they would have shut it down by now.”
“Well then, I guess you are going to be nice enough to tell us where it is, now aren’t you?”
“Rosedale and Ellen,” Sam said with a huff.
“One last question,” started Jordan. “How many girls have there been?”
Sam’s head dropped another few inches closer to the table. “I don’t really remember.” A cuffed hand reached up to meet his head as it shook. Then Sam’s head exploded up and he looked at Jordan, “We didn’t kill all of them. Most were just left alone after a few parties,” he added.
“Do you have names? We can start with those that were killed,” asked Jordan.
“No,” the defeated man whispered as his head dropped again.
“Well you better start thinking hard to remember them. Might work out better for you if you tell us versus us finding them,” added Neal.
Jordan and Neal left the room and rejoined the others in the conference room. Jordan gave Megan a quick glance, and she shook her head to the negative. He had hopes that one of the three ghosts who were still in the room with them would know something about the other girls. “Rosedale and Ellen”, repeated Neal as he unzipped his travel bag and pulled out his service revolver and navy Kevlar vest with the yellow letters FBI on it.
Crap. Jordan looked around nervously. He had his service revolver, but left his vest at home. When he and Megan left for Richmond two days ago, he never imagined he would have needed to prepare for a tactical assault. On the other side of the room, both Todd and Rachel were gearing up too. He couldn’t let them walk into this without him. His concern was deeper and more personal than just wanting to finish a case, his case. It was Robert.
“Sir, could I borrow a vest from Richmond?”
“Hang on,” Todd was still strapping the bottom side around him as he walked out the door. For the several minutes he was gone, they sat in silence gearing up with vests, radio, and guns. Neal pulled up a map of the area and studied it from every angle. The good news is there was only one door in and out. That was also the bad news. There was no easy way to make an approach. They would just have to go in. The building itself, which like Sam told them, looked abandoned and wasn’t all that big. Which could either mean there wouldn’t be a lot of people inside, or this was going to be their worst nightmare. A close quarter take down with lots of other interfering parties. It wasn’t spoken between any of them, but their training had each thinking on the same lines. Neal and Rachel strapped on a bundle of zip ties to their waist for quick apprehension and restraint of anyone they encountered.
“Here,” Todd said, walking back into the room, tossing a vest to Jordan. “It might make you feel better knowing the agent didn’t like that he was giving it up for the ghost hunter.”
Damn it, they recognized me.
“Everyone set?” Neal and Rachel nodded while Jordan strapped up. “Let’s go get this one.”
34
“Where do you think you are going?”, Jordan asked, looking at Megan and around her at the three spirits on her tail.
“With you. You are going to need us,” replied Megan.
“No way. This is dangerous stuff.” Jordan picked up his pace, hoping she had stopped following him, but the sound of her footsteps dissolved his hope. “Look,” he said, turning back to her. “This is probably going to get bad. Gun shots and all. I can’t have you there. I would worry too much about your safety. I won’t be able to protect you, and I need to be focused on what we are doing. So please stay.” He turned again and started for the parking lot.
“I am worried about your safety too. I am worried about, well, you know... Robert,” she said from a few steps behind him. “I can help with him. Might be able to tell you he is there before you realize it.” She had now followed him out to the parking lot. The others were standing around waiting at the rental car they drove from the airport in.
Jordan turned and kissed Megan, surprising her. He pulled her in and whispered in her ear, “We are going to park two blocks away at Lanvale and Arlington. Stay further back than that.” Megan kissed his cheek and whispered back, “Be careful.” He let her go and went to join the others, leaving her and her three paranormal friends standing on the sidewalk. He watched, hoping she was smart enough to wait for them to pull out and get out of eyesight before she started to follow them. Good girl.
On the way, Todd reviewed his normal instructions for any apprehension. Give a warning, enter quickly, secure everyone in the room, and then figure out if who you were after was there. Jordan had heard this speech many times, but had never had to put it to practice in the field yet, just a few training scenarios on a closely controlled range.
They pulled up to a gas station a block south of where Jordan had told Megan. It gave them a good view of the building and everything around it. Sam was right. It looked like just another abandoned building in this rundown industrial and commercial neighborhood. It was so desolate around the area that Jordan even wondered if anyone was inside. There were no cars parked anywhere up and down the block.
They moved quickly across the road and the empty lot to the building itself. In the distance, Jordan noticed the grey two door rental that he and Megan had been driving pull into a crowded parking area. Stay, he said to himself, hoping she wouldn’t do anything stupid like get out and come to the building. Once they were plastered to what he thought the front side of the building was, he couldn’t see her anymore and forced himself to put her out of his mind. He was going to be position three. Neal and Todd would knock, announce, and enter. Jordan would follow, and Rachel would stay outside to clean up anyone who tried to leave, or to help them if they were pinned down inside.
The door was grey with bubbled paint, and rust showed through peeled areas. Neal counted to three with his fingers and then banged on the door with the handle of his revolver. The three loud bangs echoed on the steel door. He waited a second and then hit it again and then yanked on the handle. It swung open freely, and without hesitation Neal and Todd were inside, screaming. “FBI. Everyone down and keep your hands where we can see them.” Their voices boomed inside the sparse building catching the occupants off guard.
Nine sets of hands sprung up in the air, including the old retiree behind the oak bar with a wet towel over his shoulder. Those on the barstools and at the tables all moved slowly down to the ground. They gave every appearance of individuals that had done this before. T
he bar keeper kept his hands up high as he walked around the bar and laid down flat on the ground where Neal, Todd, and Jordan had clear sight of him.
They were all cooperating, all but two, seated at a table in the back behind a post. Jordan couldn’t see them from where he was, but Neal and Todd could. “Todd, cover me,” Neal said. Neal moved around the perimeter of the bar, his gun up in front of him in position, ready to fire. Jordan knew that position, Neal’s sight was mostly what was in front of him, but his revolver would be in the bottom edge of his vision, already trained on the targets. “Get those hands up.” Ordered Neal. “Good. You too buddy.”
“Malcom, you can put your hands down.” The voice sent shivers down Jordan’s neck, and he stepped inside, and worked his way to the left, opposite from where Neal was.
“Jordan, back to cover the door. I got Neal,” Todd ordered.
“I got the door,” Rachel said.
Jordan’s gun was up and ready to fire as he rounded the series of posts that littered the center of the room. He had to step over one patron who was lying face down with his hands up. He couldn’t see the table, but he saw a ring of cigarette smoke hovering around the area. As he worked his way around the posts, a man in a dark suit and black fedora came into view. Then the red ember of his cigarette and his sickening smirk. Jordan’s heart jumped, as did his gun. “Malcom, get up and back away from the table.” He ordered.
“Malcom, sit there and enjoy your drink,” Robert said, and like a good little puppet his hands dropped and he picked up his drink.
“I said, up!” Neal moved on Malcom, attempting to grab his hands while they were full with his drink glass. He had him by one wrist when something picked Neal up and threw him across the room like a rag doll. Malcom jumped up from his chair and fell back against the table, knocking the drinks to the floor in a serenade of breaking glass. Those on the floor jumped at the thud Neal made and then again at the sound of the glass. A few had rolled where they could see and were shaken. They weren’t the only ones.